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ALVMNVS  BOOK  FVND 


Trelawny 

with 

Shelley 

and 

Byron 


BY 

JOAQUIN  MILLER 


1922 

The  Biblio  Company 

Pompton  Lakes, 

New  Jersey 


TRELAWNY 

WITH 

SHELLEY 

AND 

BYRON 


The  Ramapo  Press  Publications,  No.  1. 


Limited  Edition  of 

300  Numbered 
Copies,  of  Which 
This  is  Number     Jj^^ 


Written  at  The  Heights,  Oakland,  California 
January  1,  1893 


Trelawny 

with 

Shelley 

and 

Byron 

BY 

JOAQUIN  MILLER 


1922 

The  Biblio  Company 

Pompton  Lakes, 

New  Jersey 


£U-(^ 


tA^Y^y-yv(A>iy 


TRELAWNY  WITH  SHELLEY 
AND  BYRON 


And  shall  Trelawny  die? 
And  shall  Trelawny  die? 
Then  forty  thousand  Cornishmen 
Vv'^ill  know  the  reason  why. 

Edward  John  Trelawny  of  London, 
Italy,  Greece,  Wales,  the  whole 
world  in  fact,  was  certainly  the 
most  singularly  fortunate  man  I  ever 
met,  and  I  have  known  not  a  few  notable 
and  brave  men.  He  claimed  to  be  not  only 
a  descendant  of  the  hero  referred  to  in 
this  stirring  old  chorus,  but  to  be  a  de- 
scendant of  kings.  To  be  frank  about 
it  there  were  few  things  worth  claim- 
ing that  ' '  Old  Tre, ' '  as  the  clubmen  and 
scribes  in  and  about  London  used  to  call 
him,  did  not  lay  claim  to  in  some  way. 
He  had  a  right  to  claim  much,  for  what 
man  had  ever  seen  so  much  or  known  so 
7 


5f39H;;^G 


much  of  this  world  and  its  great  sold- 
iers, sailors,  statesmen  and  poets?  He 
was  the  most  intimate  friend  of  both 
Byron  and  Shelley,  was  with  them  in 
their  last  hours  and  laid  them  both  to 
rest.  And  this  Trelawny  was  for  more 
than  fifty  years  sole  authority  on  cer- 
tain facts  touching  these  immortal  poets- 
It  is  this  that  makes  Trelawny  and  his 
books  so  fascinating.  And  it  is  in  ref- 
erence to  these  poets  that  I  purpose  to 
consider  this  strange  man  and  his  rude 
and  realistic  books;  for,  as  you  may 
know,  it  was  this  man  who  asked 
Fletcher,  ;Byron's  faithful  servant  to 
go  out  from  the  room  where  he  lay  after 
death  to  bring  a  glass  of  water  in  order 
that  he  might  have  a  chance  to  lift  the 
sheet  and  inspect  the  dead  man's  feet. 
And  this  is  only  one  of  the  many  cold- 
blooded, not  to  say  brutal,  acts  which 
this  man  has  set  down  with  all  the  de- 
termined precision  of  detail  that  might 
characterize  a  surgeon  in  the  amputa- 
tion of  a  limb.  We  shall  be  able  to  pass 
them  nearly  all  by,  however;  but  no 
one  can  help  wondering  all  the  time  how 
it  happened  that  this  bloodless  fellow 
claimed  to  be  the  best  friend  of  these 


two  most  sensitive  of  all  uoble-born  Eng- 
lishmen from  the  day  when  he  first  met 
them  till  he  laid  them  in  the  gi'ave, 

Trelawny  was  left  standing  like  a 
lone  stormtorn  pine  on  a  mountaintop 
years  and  years  after  his  last  friend  was 
dead.  He  must  have  been  far  up  in  the 
eighties  when  I  saw  him.  Only  a  few 
years  ago  he  sent  me  to  Oakland  here  a 
revised  copy  of  his  books  on  Byron, 
Shelley  and  himself,  and  for  aught  I 
know  he  may  be  still  living.*  He  was 
a  forceful  man  in  every  way,  and  but 
for  this  cold-blooded  coarseness  and 
realism  might  have  been  a  great  man. 
He  told  me  that  he  had  no  schooling  or 
opportunities  at  all,socially  or  other- 
wise, having  been  a  sailor  from  10  to 
well  nigh  30.  And  this  only  increases 
our  wonder  at  his  familiarity  with 
Byron,  Shelley,  Lady  Blessington  and 
others  of  their  time.  When  last  I  saw 
him  he  was  trying  to  reform  the  world 
by  "living  naturally,"  as  he  called  it. 
I  visited  him  at  a  very  humble  hut  up 
the  Thames,  where  he  lived  alone,  ate 
vegetables,  drank  water  from  the  river 
only,  and,  notwithstanding  his  wild 
sailor  life  and  lively  days  in  the  Levant, 


Trelawny    died     in    Worthing,     England, 
13  August,  1881. 

9 


never  touched  either  rum  or  wine  or 
tobacco.  He  was  in  robust  health  and 
insisted  on  bringing  up  a  fresh  bucket 
of  water  with  his  own  hands  from  the 
river- 
One  peculiar  thing  about  Trelawny 
was  his  desire  for  mystery  touching  his 
own  life.  He  insisted  to  me  in  a  most 
mysterious  tone  of  voice  that  he  had 
royal  blood  from  some  extinct  race  of 
kings  in  his  veins,  and  that  he  had  in 
early  days  been  a  famous  pirate;  and  if 
*'old  Tre"  could  look  over  my  shoulder 
at  this  moment  I  think  nothing  in  this 
sketch  would  please  him  so  well  as  an 
adherence  to  this  account  of  himself. 
He  certainly  had  circumnavigated  the 
globe  as  a  sailor,  and  had  set  foot  here 
in  California  long  before  the  most  of  us 
were  born.  He  was  well  up  in  all  the 
deeds  of  Morgan  and  other  great  pirates 
of  the  Spanish  Main ;  and  with  increased 
mystery  whispered  that  he  knew  to  a 
dot  the  very  spot  where  a  shipload  of 
gold  was  buried  near  the  harbor  of  San 
Diego.  You  perhaps  are  aware  that 
Lord  Byron  made  him  the  hero  of  more 
than  one  wild  poetic  tale.  He  was  "Con- 
rad," "Lara,"  and  the  like.  Possibly 
10 


here  was  the  key  to  Byron's  love  for  the 
fellow;  he  had  use  for  him.  And  yet, 
what  use  could  Shelley  find  for  such  a 
man,  or  what  fellowship  could  he  find  in 
such  coarse  company?  None.  And  so 
I  am  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  Tre- 
lawny  was  not  half  so  bad  as  he  thought 
he  was  and  tried  to  make  others  believe. 
I  shall  rather  say  that  these  refined  men 
found  him  to  be  a  bluff  and  honest 
though  rough  old  savage,  good  at  heart 
at  all  times  and  useful  in  handling  their 
boats  in  emergencies.  As  to  where  he 
got  money  in  order  to  be  on  a  footing 
with  such  men,  that  is  certainly  a  mys- 
tery. But  there  are  plenty  of  ways  to 
get  a  fortune  without  turning  pirate. 

We  may  stick  a  pin  here  and  note 
that  it  is  no  new  thing  to  find  very  good 
men  trying  to  make  out  that  they  are 
or  have  been  terribly  bad-  Byron  him- 
self, it  seems  to  me,  was  of  that  sort.  At 
the  same  time,  while  I  cannot  concede 
that  Trela  wny  was  entirely  bad,  we  will 
have  to  concede  that  he  was  entirely 
coarse  and  rough.  But  let  us  now  take 
up  this  book  about  Byron  and  Shelley, 
first  published  about  fifty  years  ago.  It 
may  be  noted,  however,  that  subsequent 
11 


editions  somewhat  softened  his  asperi- 
ties toward  the  two  poets. 

But  certain  hard  things  set  down  in 
the  first  edition  could  not  be  softened, 
and  you  find  your  teeth  set  on  edge  in 
every  chapter.  For  instance,  having 
once  told  us,  giving  date  and  place,  that 
Shelle3'  took  such  heavy  doses  of  mor- 
phine that  his  life  was  endangered,  he 
could  not  well  alter  the  statement,  and 
having  told  us  that  Byron  was  vain  and 
silly,  he  could  not  say  otherwise  later 
on.  And  yet  we  must  forgive  him  these 
lies,  for  they  were  born  of  the  very  air 
and  time  in  which  the  book  was  first 
concerned.  But  here  is  a  pleasant  bit 
about  Shelle3^  which  must  be  true. 

"He  would  set  to  work  on  a  book,  or 
a  pyramid  of  books,  his  eyes  glistening 
with  an  energy  as  fierce  as  that  of  the 
most  sordid  gold-digger  who  works  at  a 
rock  of  quartz,  crushing  his  way  through 
all  impediments,  no  grain  of  the  pure 
ore  escaping  his  eager  scrutiny.  I  called 
on  him  one  morning  at  10;  he  was  in 
his  study  with  a  German  folio-pen  rest- 
ing on  the  broad  marble  mantlepieee 
over  an  old-fashioned  fireplace,  and 
with  a  dictionarv  in  his  hand.  He  al- 
12 


ways  read  standing  if  possible.  He  had 
promised  over  night  to  go  with  me,  but 
now  begged  me  to  let  him  off.  I  then 
rode  to  Leghorn,  eleven  or  twelve  miles 
distant,  and  passed  the  day  there;  on 
returning  at  6  in  the  evening  to  dine 
with  Sirs-  Shelley  and  the  Williamses, 
as  I  had  engaged  to  do,  I  went  into  the 
poet's  room  and  found  him  exactly  in 
the  position  in  which  I  had  left  him  in 
the  morning,  but  looking  pale  and  ex- 
hausted. 

"  'Well,'  I  said,  'have  you  found  it?' 

"Shutting  the  book  and  going  to  the 
window  he  replied.  'No,  I  have  lost  it,' 
with  a  deep  sigh.    'I  have  lost  a  day.' 

' '  '  Cheer  up,  my  lad,  and  come  to  din- 
ner. ' 

"Putting  his  long  fingers  through  his 
mass  of  wild  tangled  hair  he  answered 
faintly:  'You  go,  I  have  dined.  Late 
eating  don't  do  for  me.' 

"  'What  is  this?'  I  asked  as  I  was  go- 
ing out  of  the  room,  pointing  to  one  of 
his  bookshelves,  with  a  plate  contain- 
ing bread  and  cold  meat  on  it. 

"  'That  [coloring],  why  that  must  be 
my  dinner.  It's  very  foolish.  I  thought 
I  had  eaten  it'  " 

13 


Now  here  is  the  final  scene,  the  burn- 
ing of  poor  Shelley.  And  let  me  here 
say  that  Shelley  was  burned  because 
Trela^viiy  willed  it  to  be  so,  as  in  line 
with  the  life  and  desire  of  the  poet ;  not 
because  the  Italian  Government  com- 
pelled it.  This  was  not  required  at  all. 
The  body  had,  indeed,  been  buried  some 
time  before  it  was  exhumed  and  burned. 
When  they  (Trelawny  and  Byron)  had 
fired  the  funeral  pile  Byron  said  to 
Trelawny :  "  '  Let  us  humbly  lower  our 
heads  and  in  silence  try  to  pray.'  *  *  * 
After  the  fire  was  well  kindled  we  re- 
peated the  ceremony  of  the  previous 
day;  and  more  wine  was  poured  over 
Shelley's  dead  body  than  he  had  con- 
sumed during  his  life.  This  with  the 
oil  and  salt  made  the  yellow  flames 
glisten  and  quiver.  The  heat  from  the 
sun  and  fire  was  so  intense  that  the  at- 
mosphere was  tremulous  and  wavy. 
*  *  *  The  corpse  fell  open  and  the 
heart  was  laid  bare.     *     *     * 

"  'Let  us  try  the  strength  of  these 
waters  that  drowned  our  friends,'  said 
Byron  suddenly,  with  his  usual  audac- 
ity. 'How  far  out  do  you  think  they 
were  when  their  boat  sank?' 
14 


"  'If  you  don't  wish  to  be  put  into 
the  furnace  you  had  better  not  try ;  you 
are  not  in  condition,'  said  Trelawny. 

"But  he  stripped  and  went  into  the 
water,  and  so  did  I  and  my  companion- 
Before  we  got  a  mile  out  Byron  was 
sick  and  persuaded  us  to  return  to  the 
shore.  My  companion,  too,  was  seized 
with  cramp,  and  reached  the  land  by  my 
aid.  At  4  o'clock  the  funeral  pyre 
burned  low,  and,  when  we  uncovered 
the  furnace,  nothing  remained  in  it  but 
dark-colored  ashes  with  fragments  of 
the  larger  bones.  Poles  were  now  put 
under  the  red-hot  furnace,  and  it  was 
gradually  cooled  in  the  sea.  I  gathered 
together  the  human  ashes  and  placed 
them  in  a  small  oak  box,  bearing  an  in- 
scription on  a  brass  plate,  screwed  it 
down  and  placed  it  in  Byron's  car- 
riage. ' ' 

And  here  is  Trelawny 's  account  of  the 
last  resting  place  of  the  poet's  ashes  in 
Rome. 

"When  I  came  to  examine  the  ground 
with  the  man  who  had  the  custody  of  it 
I  found  Shelley's  grave  amidst  a  cluster 
of  others.  The  old  Roman  wall  partly 
inclosed  the  place,  and  there  was  a 
15 


niche  in  the  wall  formed  by  two  but- 
tresses— immediately  under  an  ancient 
pyramid,  said  to  be  the  tomb  of  Caius 
Cestius.  There  were  no  graves  near  it 
at  that  time.  This  suited  my  taste,  so 
I  purchased  the  recess,  and  sufficient 
space  for  planting  a  row  of  the  Italian 
upright  cypresses.  As  the  souls  of  here- 
tics are  foredoomed  by  the  Roman 
priests,  they  do  not  affect  to  trouble 
themselves  about  their  bodies.  There 
was  no  'faculty'  to  apply  for  nor 
Bishop's  license  to  exhume  the  body. 
The  custode  or  guardian,  who  dwelt 
within  the  inclosure  and  had  the  key  of 
the  gate,  seemed  to  have  uncontrolled 
power  within  his  domain.  Without  more 
ado  masons  were  hired  and  two  tombs 
built  in  the  recess.  In  one  of  these  when 
completed  I  deposited  the  box  with 
Shelley's  ashes  and  covered  it  in  with 
solid  stone,  inscribed  with  a  Latin  epi- 
taph written  by  Leigh  Hunt." 

After  this  funeral  by  the  sea^  Byron 
became  still  more  restless,  and  in  a  little 
time  longer  he  and  Trelawny  were  sail- 
ing away  to  take  part  in  the  glorious  at- 
tempt to  restore  Greece  to  her  splendor 
and  glory.  On  one  sweet  and  restful 
IQ 


occasion,  as  they  sailed  up  the  Levant, 
says  Trelawny.  "I  put  a  pencil  and 
paper  in  his  hand,  saying:  'Perpetuate 
your  curses  on  tyranny,  for  poets,  like 
ladies,  generally  side  with  the  despots. ' 

"He  readily  took  the  paper  and  set 
to  work.  I  walked  the  deck  to  prevent 
his  being  disturbed.  He  looked  as  crest- 
fallen as  a  riotous  boy  suddenly  pounced 
upon  by  a  master  and  given  an  impos- 
sible task,  scrawling  and  scratching  out, 
sadly  perplexed.  After  a  long  spell  he 
said: 

"  'You  think  it  is  as  easy  to  write 
poetry  as  smoke  a  cigar — look,  it's  only 
doggerel.  Extemporizing  verses  is  non- 
sense; poetry  is  a  distinct  faculty — it 
won't  come  when  called — you  may  as 
well  whistle  for  a  wind;  a  Pythoness 
was  primed  when  put  upon  her  tripod. 
I  must  chew  the  cud  before  I  write.  I 
have  thought  over  most  of  my  subjects 
for  years  before  writing  a  line-' 

"He  did  not,  however,  give  up  the 
task  and  sat  pondering  over  the  paper 
for  nearly  an  hour.  Then,  gnashing  his 
teeth,  he  tore  up  what  he  had  written 
and  threw  the  fragments  overboard. 

"Seeing  I  looked  disappointed,  he 
17 


said:  'You  might  as  well  ask  me  to 
describe  an  earthquake  while  the  ground 
is  trembling  under  m.y  feet.  Give  me 
time — I  can't  forget  the  theme;  but  for 
this  Greek  business  I  should  have  been  at 
Naples  writing  a  fifth  canto  of  Childe 
Harold,  expressing  to  give  vent  to  my 
detestation  of  the  Austrian  tyranny  in 
Italy.' 

*  *  *  "Some  time  after,  I  sug- 
gested he  should  write  a  M^ar  song  for 
the  Greeks;  he  did  so  afterward.  I  saw 
the  original  among  his  papers  at  Misso- 
longhi  and  made  a  copy  of  it,  which  I 
have  lost." 

And  here  is  a  dialogue  which  Tre- 
lawny  says  he  set  down  soon  after  it 
took  place : 

Byron — If  death  comes  in  the  shape 
of  a  cannon-ball  and  takes  off  my  head 
he  is  welcome.  I  have  no  wish  to  live, 
but  I  can't  bear  pain.  Don't  repeat 
the  ceremony  you  went  through  with 
Shelley — no  one  wants  my  ashes. 

Tre. — You  will  be  claimed  for  West- 
minister Abbey. 

Byron — No,  they  don't  want  me;  nor 
would  I  have  my  bones  mingled  with 
that  motlej'  throng. 
18 


Tre- — I  should  prefer  being  launched 
into  the  sea  to  the  nonsense  of  the  land 
ceremonies. 

Byron — There  is  a  rocky  islet  off 
Maina — it  is  the  Pirates'  Isle,  it  sug- 
gested the  "Corsair."  No  one  knows 
it.  I'll  show  it  to  you  on  the  way  to 
the  Morea.  There  is  the  spot  I  should 
like  my  bones  to  lie. 

Tre. — They  won't  let  me  do  so  with- 
out you  will  it. 

Byron — I  will,  if  you  are  with  me 
when  I  die ;  remind  me,  and  don 't  let 
the  blundering  blockhead  doctors  bleed 
me,  or  when  I  am  dead  maul  my  car- 
cass. 

And  here  the  curtain  falls  on  the  last 
act  of  the  great  poet.  Trelawny  says 
he  could  not  induce  Byron  to  drink 
brandy  or  anything  else  while  in  the 
mud  and  malaria  of  Western  Greece. 
He  says  he  never  smoked,  but  tried  to 
learn  to  chew  tobacco.  I  here  quote  a 
few  paragraphs  from  Trelawny 's  ac- 
count of  his  death ;  observing  that  if  he 
is  not  entirely  truthful  here  he  at  least 
seems  entirely  so,  and  prudent,  too,  and 
thoughtful  of  Byron's  friends  at  home 
and  all  the  world. 

19 


''Fletcher  gave  me  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and  from  his  dictation  I  wrote  on  By- 
ron's coffin  the  following  particulars  of 
his  last  illness  and  death : 

"  'Particulars  of  Lord  Byron's  death, 
as  related  by  his  servant,  William 
Fletcher.  Written  on  his  coffin,  at  the 
house  of  the  Primate  of  Argostoli,  by 
Edward  Thelawny,  April  10,  1824. 
Lord  Byron,  taking  his  usual  ride  and 
being  warm,  was  caught  in  a  shower  of 
rain.  Jle  had  but  very  recently 
recovered  from  a  violent  epileptic 
fit,  which  had  left  him  weak.  In  the 
course  of  the  eve  he  complained  of  be- 
ing unwell,  and  there  were  slight  symp- 
toms of  fever.  On  the  11th  he  got  up 
as  usual,  but  complained  of  his  head. 
*  *  *  He  was  advised  to  be  bled,  but 
had  a  natural  or  acquired  antipathy  to 
bleeding.  On  the  night  of  the  14th 
Fletcher  advised  a  doctor  being  sent  for 
from  Zante.  Fletcher  thought  him  at 
this  time  confused  in  his  ideas.  Byron 
said:  "Where  are  my  shoes?  I  can 
only  see  three,  and  have  been  looking 
this  hour."  Fletcher  said,  "There  are 
four."  Byron  said,  "I'm  in  the  hands 
ot  assassins;  they  will  murder  me." 
20 


*  *  *  This  evening  at  about  7 
o'clock  he  consented  to  be  bled,  and  a 
few  minutes  after  he  fainted.  They 
took  about  a  pound.  Very  weak  and 
debilitated,  the  pain  in  his  head  during 
the  night,  and  he  spoke  confusedly  of 
Fleming,  Hobhouse  and  Douglas  Ean- 
naird-  This  was  on  the  18th.  He  had 
been  again  copiously  bled.  He  took 
bark  at  about  two,  drank  a  glass  of  wine 
and  water.  He  w^as  worse  after  this  and 
became  delirious  and  violent;  began  to 
talk  and  give  directions;  took  hold  of 
one  of  Fletcher's  and  one  of  Tita's 
hands.  Fletcher  said,  "Shall  I  write?" 
Byron  muttered  to  him  for  half  and 
hour,    his   lips    moving,    but    indistinct. 

*  *  *  Fletcher  said  again  he  did  not 
understand.  "Good  God!"  he  said  and 
tried  to  repeat  it,  but  his  lips  only 
moved.  He  understood  Fletcher  and 
seemed  to  strain  hard  to  make  himself 
understood  and  to  feel  his  inability. 
After  6  o'clock  this  evening  he  said.  "I 
want  to  sleep."  They  had  given  him 
opiates,  and  from  that  time  he  never 
spoke  word  nor  moved  hand  or  foot,  nor 
showed  the  least  appearance  of  life,  ex- 

21 


cept    by    difficulty    in    swallowing    and 
stiffness.'  " 

We  need  not  follow  Byron  further. 
And  it  would  seem  that  this  remarkable 
old  man,  Trelawny,  might  well  be  left 
alone  now-  But  no,  the  real  event  of 
his  most  wondrous  life  is  yet  to  be  told. 
He  says  Byron  would  surely  have  been 
made  King  of  Greece  had  he  lived.  He 
now  aspired  to  the  throne  himself.  He 
continued  in  the  struggle  for  Greek  free- 
dom; was  fortified  in  Mount  Parnassus, 
as  if  he  had  not  yet  been  favored  enough 
by  the  gods  of  song — think  of  it !  He 
had  fixed  up  a  cave  in  Mount  Parnassus 
with  munitions  of  war,  and  for  nearly  a 
year  held  his  fortress  against  the  Turk 
and  all  coming.  It  is  butchery  to  take 
up  only  a  fragment  of  what  befell  now, 
but  space  forbids  more.  Here  is  his  ac- 
count of  one  incident.  It  appears  that 
his  mixed  men  were  all  more  or  less 
treacherous,  his  only  friend  being  his 
dog.  His  guards  got  him  to  shoot  at  a 
mark  in  order  to  empty  his  pistol;  then 
one  of  them  shot  him  in  the  back,  and 
then  the  dog  leaped  on  the  man  who 
shot  him  and  held  him  to  the  ground. 
All  this  in  Mount  Parnassus — think  of 
22 


it !    But  here  is  what  the  friend  of  By- 
ron and  Shelley  says : 

"When  I  was  shot  I  sat  down  on  the 
rock  I  had  been  standing  on ;  bending 
down  my  head  to  let  the  blood  flow 
from  my  mouth  a  musket  ball  and  sev- 
eral broken  teeth  came  with  it — the 
socket  of  the  teeth  was  broken  and  my 
right  arm  paralyzed.  I  walked  without 
assistance  into  the  small  grotto  I  had 
boarded  up  and  floored  and  called  my 
house ;  it  was  divided  into  two  small 
rooms  and  there  was  a  broad  veranda  in 
front.  Squatting  in  a  corner  my  ser- 
vant cut  open  my  dress  behind  and  told 
me  I  had  been  shot  with  two  balls  be- 
tween my  shoulders,  near  together,  on 
the  right  side  of  my  spine,  and  one  of 
them  close  to  it.  One  of  the  balls,  as  I 
have  said,  its  force  expended  on  my 
bones,  dropped  from  my  mouth  without 
wounding  my  face;  the  other  broke  my 
collarbone  and  remained  in  my  breast — 
it  is  still  there.  No  blood  issued  from 
the  places  they  had  entered  at-  We  had 
no  surgeon  or  medicines  in  the  cave ;  the 
air  was  so  dry  and  pure,  our  living  so 
simple,  that  this  was  the  first  visit  sick- 
ness or  sorrow  paid  us.  Nature  makes 
23 


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